


Balm

by beng



Series: The Dawn Will Come [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Duty, Exalted Plains, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, Responsibility, Sleeping arrangements, Sort Of Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3107663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor got carried away, and now everyone's too beaten up to return to their own camp. So they stay the night with the Dalish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balm

The stars look coldly down as Rinata sits on a block of wood by the fire of the Dalish camp and sorts through their things. 

The ancient ruin has yielded more gold and valuables than she expected. As for the awkward moment when the Keeper accused her of defiling the elven graves, well... She did bring a healthy dose of spindleweed, wolf pelts, iron and elfroot to their camp. And the golden halla, which was supposedly the stuff of legends; which shouldn’t even exist. Oh, and she brought the elf girl the amulet her dead brother had been looking for. Which also supposedly didn’t exist.

All in all, Rinata considers it a fair deal.

Sell, sell, keep, sell... Keep? It’s a nice dagger. Cole might like it... Sell, sell, give to Sera, sell...

Why are they in the Dalish camp? Because she’s been stupid, and now they’ve been beaten bloody.

She hadn’t planned to travel this far into the Plains yet. Opposing the healer’s advice, she had left Skyhold with an untreated cough, and she had known she’s not at her best. But one thing had led to another, as they say, and here they are, bruised, exhausted, out of potions and most probably without a tent over their heads for the night. She doubts the Keeper would let them sleep in one of their aravels.

Rinata rubs her face and lifts her head to glance at her companions. Dorian is sitting not far from her, repairing some leather binding on his staff, whistling softly. His injuries are minor, a bruise here, a scratch there. The Tevinter has enviable self-preservation instincts.

Sera, sitting on a log just outside the circle of firelight, has her right arm in a binding, secured tightly to her chest so she wouldn’t move it too much. The Dalish healer says she has pulled her muscles and needs to rest for a few days at least. Rinata sighs. Good luck keeping that spitfire sitting still. Even now she is fidgeting and muttering to herself, laughing occasionally as she tries to apply some healing salve on the gashes the wolves left on her neck.

And Blackwall... Rinata looks around the camp, wondering where the Warden has gone.

He’s coming up from the river, his hair slightly damp and his face clean of the demonic ichor and blood it had been splattered with before. He’s limping a bit. An elf calls him, and he walks over to the large fire in the centre of the camp and is given a pile of woolen blankets.

The Grey Warden armour they found in the ruins looks good on him, Rinata thinks. Without that thick gambeson he always wears beneath his plate mail, he looks younger. Less like a bear. Not that she minds, but...

Oh what does it matter. Rinata looks down and resumes her sorting.

She hears Blackwall exchange some gruff comments with Dorian, hears the mage huff and say something about not being used to sleeping under the open sky, especially since it’s autumn, and they’re on a highland plateau. Blackwall grumbles something, throws a blanket down in his lap and then walks over to Sera.

Rinata shakes her head and suppresses a cough. At least they’ve stopped insulting each other for who they are — now it’s apparently all about their different tastes in alcohol.

But the mage is right, the nights are getting colder. Rinata glances up at the stars and clears her throat again. Riding all the way from a desert oasis to her snow-capped mountain stronghold in a matter of days had not been a good idea. Instead, it had been the kind of idea that leaves strange, wheezing noises in one’s chest.

She knows she’s becoming impatient. Reckless. But the list of tasks seems ever-growing, and now she is also expected to sit in judgement and answer questions about gardening, plastering, furniture, tapestries, and what not. She tries to do everything as quickly as possible, and here’s the result: two rifts closed in one day, and a temple cleared of demons, but her whole company is barely standing on their feet.

“My lady.”

Rinata shivers as the Warden’s low voice travels down her spine, pulling her from her grim thoughts. He drops on one knee in front of her, puts down the remaining blankets and produces the tin of salve Sera had been using before. It’s some simple elfroot paste, with a dash of embrium.

“Let me see your hands.”

Rinata looks down, at the red, swollen skin caused by a rage demon that, for a moment, had gotten too close. “I’ll be alright,” she mutters. “It’s nothing.”

The Warden just shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have noticed if it was nothing, my lady.”

She wants to pull back when he reaches for her hands, so small in his large, calloused paws, and, disarmed by his closeness, finds she can’t.

Instead Rinata finds herself watching the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he generously lathers the salve on her burns, and then lightly wraps her hands in cotton bandages, making them look like clumsy mittens, all fingers bound together. What a fine archer she’s going to be the next few days, Rinata smirks to herself. But, after days of travel and bloody fighting, his gentle touch feels like rain on parched ground, and it makes her breath hitch in her throat.

Blackwall glances up as she tries to fight back another fit of cough, his brow furrowed.

“You’re sick,” he states. “And you’ve split your lip.”

Rinata rolls her eyes. “Hardly the dying matter.”

He sighs and reaches for the salve again. “You push yourself too hard.”

Hesitantly, and very carefully, he dabs her lip with the elfroot paste, his knuckles warm against her cheek. Rinata forgets to breathe as the time stops.

He is so close, and yet so impossibly far, remaining steadfast beyond his self-erected walls of duty and sacrifice. Only his words are finding their way over to her, but they are good words, words of inspiration and encouragement that keep her going when she is down. Words, a sharp blade and a strong shield are all that he has for her, and lately she thinks it’s not so little after all.

After two weeks in the Forbidden Oasis and now a four days’ journey to the Exalted Plains, she knows she’s stronger than she thought before. She thinks she can do this, can walk the path of the Inquisitor laid out before her, although it is as tiring as wading through slime and mud.

Now Rinata looks down at the man in front of her, and her lip curls in a soft smile as she sees his gaze dropping to her mouth, continuing down the line of her neck. She imagines running her hands through his dark hair, feeling how thick it is. Imagines pulling him closer and breathing in his scent. Kissing him. Snuggling into his arms and falling asleep knowing she is cherished and protected.

But her hands are bandaged in some stupid mittens, and he has done nothing to show he has changed his mind from the time they spoke almost a month ago on the ramparts. All she has is words.

“I’m not pushing myself any harder than you are,” she reminds him, an amused spark lighting up her tired face.

Blackwall lifts an eyebrow at that, a smirk of his own hidden in that ridiculous moustache.

“Me? I’m not the one running around with a cough.”

“Hard to run with that limp, no, Warden?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me, my lady.”

Rinata sighs. “Where have I heard this before?”

They are interrupted by Sera, as she suddenly jumps up from her seat and yells at Dorian, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Not a chance! You keep your magic fingers off me!”

The mage spreads his hands in exasperation. “It was just a suggestion, Sera!”

Blackwall stands up, frowning at the two trouble-makers.

“What’s this about?” Rinata speaks up.

“Blankets!” the elf exclaims. “Dorian wants to share, and I’m not sharing with a mage!”

“Wait, I thought there were four blankets, enough for everyone?”

“But it’s cold!” Dorian points out, then turns away, running a hand through his hair in annoyance. “Know what, forget it. We’re fine. Let the inadequately dressed elf freeze, what do I care.”

Blackwall chuckles. “And here I thought you were the one running around with one shoulder naked.”

Rinata laughs as she shakes her head.

“Alright, Dorian,” she says. “Come here, and let Blackwall take care of the inadequately dressed elf.”

“I’m not indlicately dressed!”

“Blackwall alright for you, Sera?”

The rogue glances down at Rinata with all the seriousness that she can muster, before cracking a cheeky grin. “You’re prettier, boss,” she states.

“If you think I’m sharing with that barbaric, smelly, hairy...”

“You’re repeating yourself, Dorian!” Rinata sharply cuts the mage’s rant. “Now get your noble Tevinter ass here and let’s go to sleep!”

She catches Blackwall’s eye as he walks to the other side of the fire and sets out one of the blankets to protect them from the cold coming up from the ground, Sera watching him sceptically. He looks away quickly, and Rinata sighs. So much for their moment, but this _is_ the most sensible sleeping arrangement.

“Spread one on the ground, like Blackwall did,” she says, nodding at Dorian. “Hands all wrapped up, can’t help.”

Later, with her back to Dorian’s chest and his hand thrown carelessly over her waist, she is surprised by how warm the mage is. He may be somewhat arrogant, holding himself above the uneducated boors of the South, but he’s smart and idealistic. She doesn’t know why she’d ever thought him cold.

She glances to where Blackwall and Sera are sleeping huddled on the other side of the dying fire. She hears the elf mumble something in her sleep, and Blackwall shifts and pulls her a bit closer.

Rinata closes her eyes and pulls her bandaged hands to her chest. They smell of elfroot and embrium, and the scent seems to be helping with her cough too. She tries to lie still as she breathes in deeply.

She will be more careful tomorrow. Maybe just return to their own camp and then take a day off. She doesn’t like Blackwall’s limp. And once they’re back in Skyhold, she will ask Master Harritt to make something more substantial for Sera. Maybe some light greaves... If she can persuade the rogue to wear full-length pants first...

Rinata yawns. The mage shifts sleepily behind her and pulls the blanket tighter around them, accidentally covering the shorter dwarf’s head with it too.

The smell of elfroot and embrium fills up the warm space under the blanket, and Rinata smiles for the second time in what seems like forever as she finally drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to iscatterthemintimeandspace for looking this over and to Faye for believing :)


End file.
